


Cover Me

by lajulie



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Bruce Springsteen References, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hoth (Star Wars), Pre-ESB Kissing, Pre-Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, The Boss is Corellian, fight me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-19 09:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22275709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lajulie/pseuds/lajulie
Summary: Leia's looking for a distraction, and the daydream she's been having about Han is certainly that. But she would never try to make it happen in real life, would she?Inspired by Bruce Springsteen's "Cover Me" and written for @otterandterrier for the 2019 HanLeia Secret Santa Exchange on Tumblr (@hanleiasecretsanta).
Relationships: Leia Organa/Han Solo
Comments: 12
Kudos: 66
Collections: Hanleia Exchange





	Cover Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OtterAndTerrier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtterAndTerrier/gifts).



> Happy belated holidays, @otterandterrier! Our conversation a couple months ago about Bruce Springsteen being Corellian (and the many Bruce songs that seem to fit a HanLeia mood) inspired me to add this song to my Scoundress playlist. So indirectly you inspired your own gift, which seems appropriate. Hope you enjoy it!

Leia was looking to be distracted, but she hadn’t counted on being _that_ distracted.

She was at one of the Rogues’ frequent gatherings on base, attending in an effort to connect with more of her fellow Rebels who had recently joined them on Hoth, as well as to forget the report she’d just had to write about a recent mission that had gone completely shuura-shaped. Not her mission, thankfully, but it had been bad. Many casualties.

Maybe some alcohol would help. Wedge handed her a disposable cup of the signature drink for the evening, a concoction aptly dubbed “Toxic Waste.”

“It’s glowing,” she said, giving her cup a dubious look.

“Maroj melon liqueur,” Wedge informed her. “Well. Maroj melon _flavored_ , anyway. Can’t say it actually has anything resembling fruit in it.”

She wasn’t exactly thrilled to try it, but she was here to be sociable. She could at least take a sip.

Gods, but it was awful. Cloyingly sweet on top, with the jet juice gin finisher that they probably could use to clean engine parts after everyone went blind drinking it. She was about to pull out her best diplomatic face—she’d tried plenty of food and drink that was far from her preferred palate over the years—but then she thought, _kriff it._

Wedge laughed at her sour expression. “Yeah, it’s pretty bad. And unfortunately, we have a whole lot of it.”

Thankfully, Han showed up not long after that, and after shoving Leia’s cup of glowing alcoholic waste into the hands of another unwitting Rebel, set her up with a bit of the whiskey he’d brought with him.

“Not the Whyren’s,” he said, “but a hell of a lot better than whatever that was.”

“Thanks,” she said, and meant it.

She circulated a bit, sipping her whiskey and watching her fellow Rebels work out their tension through drinking and dancing and the occasional on-the-side sabacc game. She made her way into a few conversations, but mostly listened; she tried to avoid shop talk at these sorts of gatherings, and didn’t have a lot that _wasn’t_ shop talk to say. (But then, that hadn’t exactly stopped the pilots from boasting who’d kicked whose ass on the sims that week, so maybe it depended on what kind of shop you were talking about.) She liked listening, though, liked hearing Basic in different accents, seeing the different personalities emerge, laughing at jokes that you kind of had to speak Twi’leki to properly understand.

Then a new song came on. Corellian, from the sounds of it, and from the fact that Han and Wedge occasionally sang along and nodded to each other, like it was part of a conversation they were having from across the room.

Yes, definitely Corellian. Leia recognized the raw-voiced singer whose music Han often played while making repairs. Lots of guitar, deceptively upbeat, singing about hard work and tough times, back alleys and old speeders, people down on their luck but hoping for better, and running, lots of running. But this song wasn’t about running.

 _The times are tough now, just getting tougher  
_ _Whole world is rough, it’s just getting rougher  
_ _Cover me  
_ _Come on baby, cover me…_

The refrain reminded Leia of checking in with your partner on a mission. _Cover me. I’ve got you._ Understanding, backup. Trust.

But it was also about leaving the world behind, all those tough times, the driving snow, the wild wind. A little escape, a room with a locked door and a partner you trusted.

Han and Wedge were singing it together now: _Oh, I’m lookin’ for a lover who will come on in and cover me…_

She took another sip of her whiskey, watching Han sing along. A locked door and a partner sounded pretty damned good right about now.

A picture formed in Leia’s mind, clear as if she were watching a holofilm. She saw herself take charge, subtly pull him aside, give him a look that made him understand her intentions. Made him want to follow her. Like the mutual nod before they made their move on a mission.

She guided him through the ice caverns, not to the hangar where the _Falcon_ parked, but to the officers’ wing, to her quarters. Her place, her turf. Practically threw them both into the room, locked the door behind her, whirled around to put her hands on him. Pulled his head down to meet her lips, wound her hands through his hair. She saw him match her passion with his, swing her around so that they were pressed against the door, hands all over each other, his weight against hers, still kissing. They pulled apart long enough for her to span her hands over that chest, his layers disappearing to reveal his warm skin, both of them breathless, like they were on the run—

_Cover me._

_I’ve got you._

_Fuck_. She was drunk. She was drunk at a Rogue party, staring at Han across a crowded room, and the little fantasy that had just entered her brain was a dangerous one. She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Han like that. And when you were drunk enough, everything seemed like a good idea—ask Luke, who’d only narrowly avoided getting his ear pierced by one of his squadmates a couple months ago. Besides, in none of the nine hells could she make something like this happen; Han would never take anyone to bed if there was any question about their sobriety.

So no good could come of this. The most she would get out of it would be a lot of teasing, some unnecessary heartache, and a feeling of dread when she woke up in the morning.

Time to take herself home.

* * *

She’d blamed it on the alcohol, but her little fantasy from the party turned out to have staying power, even when she was stone cold sober.

It took up residence in her head, emerging when she was bored out of her mind during a briefing, or when she was showering, or when she turned out the light in her quarters and tried to sleep. It threatened to surface one evening while she ate dinner with Han, Luke, and Chewie on the _Falcon_ , but she managed to push it aside and focus on their conversation.

 _Shut the door and cover me…_ Sometimes it was quick, just the thought of a door slamming, two bodies immediately moving to press up against it. Sometimes her mind liked to embellish it, mix things up. But it persisted.

When ignoring the fantasy stopped working, she began to think about it, to question it. Why this? Why him?

Her mind wandered back to a recent mission, waiting for their moment to break into the facility, blasters poised. His nod, indicating she should go ahead, that he’d be there to back her up. His face, his joyful whoop as their boosted speeder bike started up and he hopped on behind her, picking off bucketheads as she drove.

_I can trust him. He’s got my back._

That was true. But as far as missions went, that was true for Wedge, for Luke, for a few of the other Rebels with whom she’d worked as well. And Luke, Wedge, and say, Yance Pantour or Toryn Farr were all plenty attractive, could probably have their pick of anyone they wanted on base, if they were so inclined. So that wasn’t it.

Maybe it was personality. She was aware that some of the beings on base found her a bit intimidating, either because of her title or because she refused to stop speaking her mind. _Because you scare the crap out of him_ , Han had replied when she’d wondered aloud why one of the deck officers never ended up on her shift anymore. She liked someone who didn’t balk when she took control, who pushed back but didn’t try to take over. Who knew that her title meant nothing in the field but her ability to shoot a blaster, plan an escape, fly a ship sure as hell did.

She couldn’t really picture Luke pressing her against the door to her room. Or Yance, or Toryn. Although Wedge seemed like he’d be up for that. Maybe it was a Corellian thing.

But Wedge was not the Corellian with his hands all over her when she closed her eyes.

And how would you even go about starting something like that, practically speaking? What would you say? Did meaningful nods actually work in real life, or would she have to do a lot of talking and risk ruining it?

She had to laugh at herself a little. _It’s a sex fantasy, Organa. Don’t overthink it, just enjoy it._

* * *

She did, for a bit. The fantasy was a nice distraction, its own kind of refuge from the cold of Hoth, the monotonous briefings, the constant fear that they would be found here. But soon it caused a sort of itch, a scritchy sort of undone feeling that bothered her just enough to keep thinking about it.

Guilt was definitely one of the thoughts dominating her head, including a little fear that by replaying this little daydream of hers constantly, she was reducing Han to a piece of meat. Using him. Making him no longer a person, not her friend, just hands and lips and chest and— _oh_.

Then Han himself had said something to her that clicked: “It’s okay to want things, Leia.”

It’d had nothing to do with her little fantasy at all. Han had brought her a little something with their latest supply run—not from Alderaan this time, just a small bundle of floral sachets to brighten up her room, something she’d mentioned having missed in passing a few weeks back—and she’d felt a little guilty accepting it, given that personal items were few and far between these days. At the same time, she’d been touched that he’d listened to her, thought of her. He’d lit up a little at her grateful thanks, and she’d liked that.

Maybe it didn’t have to be about someone being used. Maybe they could have each other’s backs, if only for a little while. Find a safe house and a locked door to hide behind together.

Maybe it was okay to want this. Even if it might not last.

She tried on the thought: _I want this_. It made her feel a little more alive, a little more herself. It was powerful, dangerous, even in her head.

And it was true.

* * *

Back in her overthinking phase, she’d pictured a thousand different ways this scenario could go, how it would get introduced, what would happen to set in motion this chain of events. But going on another mission reminded her that some things were better off book. Sometimes you had to wait for an opening, and take it.

Leia was on the _Falcon_ , helping Han put away a few tools. He handed her a spanner, and his hand lingered on hers, just a bit. That had been happening a lot on their last mission, nothing inappropriate or unwelcome, just—a little longer touch than usual. She was surprised she hadn’t noticed it before.

She _had_ noticed the lingering looks; she couldn’t help but notice his eyes on her face, like he was waiting for something. Leia was used to deflecting, looking away before the look could be mistaken for meaning something. This time she maintained her gaze.

Han didn’t look away, and Leia recognized his expression. He was a split second away from leaning in to—

“Do you trust me?” she asked.

He paused, a little smile curling across his lips. “Yeah.”

She closed the tool case. “Come on.”

It was with palpable curiosity that he followed her down the ramp of the _Falcon_ , through the hangar, past the command center, down the ice-covered halls to the officers’ wing. She didn’t look back, didn’t break her stride, but she knew he was still behind her. _Don’t worry, Han,_ she thought. _I’ve got you._

She reached the door of her quarters, palmed it open, and silently invited him in. He still had that curious look on his face, like he was not sure what he was in for but interested to find out.

She followed him in, closed the door, and locked it with a click. Han’s expression shifted from curiosity to surprised awe.

Things went in slow motion for a moment, Leia’s eyes following his. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore; she reached up to bring his mouth down to her own.

Time sped up—or resumed normal speed, who knew—and suddenly Leia was back in her holofilm, only real. Han’s lips on hers, her hands in his hair, near-silence in the room, his body so warm and near. Once she’d made her move, he’d matched it, only pulling away briefly to ask a question.

“Here?”

She smiled. “Here.”

They resumed, at first just kissing and caressing, then becoming more ardent. It was good, it was better than her daydream, because this scene didn’t stop at the good part and rewind to the top over and over; it continued. He was so warm, and she was so hungry for more touch, more skin, more of his lips grazing her neck, more of her hands on his chest, more of his hands on her, _more, more, more…._

A pile of cold-weather gear began to grow beside them, and somehow between kisses Leia guided them both to the bunk. It was still her show, her lead, but Han was with her at every step.

_Oh, Gods. I want this._

They fell to the mattress together, Leia’s snowsuit halfway off and her boots still on. Han was still in his snow pants and boots as well.

He paused to look at her, breathless. Still so warm, despite the chill in the room. “I can’t—I can’t promise—“ he began.

She stopped him with another kiss, a quick one. “Then don’t. I just—I need you.”

His hand was gentle, cupping her cheek. “You’ve got me,” he said, and his lips were on hers again.

Leia wasn’t sure at what point she stopped thinking entirely, but time quit meaning very much soon after that little exchange. She was dimly aware of her snowsuit hitting the floor, the blanket being pulled over them, her hair coming down, but mostly she just let herself go, let herself drown in feeling and touch and pleasure with the knowledge that they would make it back to the surface together eventually.

* * *

It was so quiet in the room. And dark—she never had bothered to turn on the light—though she could see Han clearly. They were wrapped up together under the blankets, Leia snuggled into his chest.

She’d never actually gotten to this part of the holofilm before.

“You good?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He chuckled slightly. “Took me a little by surprise, there. Kinda liked it.”

She looked up at him. “I’d say you more than kinda liked it.”

He looked at her fondly. “Yeah.”

They were quiet for a little longer, just together in the warmth, until Han spoke again. “Uh—this a one-time thing?”

Leia considered what to say for a moment. She could feel her mind trying to overthink everything again, sound the alarm, revive the whirlwind. But she ignored it and just answered as honestly as she knew how: “I’m pretty sure it’s not.”

He chuckled again, then picked up her hand from where it rested on his waist, kissing the knuckles softly before replacing it.

* * *

She didn’t want to let Hoth back in. _Turn off the light, bolt the door…_.

But it was nearly 0700, Leia was due at a meeting, and they hadn’t yet figured out how they were going to explain Han’s early morning presence in her quarters.

“Mission briefing?”

She arched a brow at him. “Because you’re known for your prompt and cheerful attendance at early morning briefings, right?”

“Didn’t say I had to be _cheerful_.” His face flashed a brief smirk before returning to his thought. “Yeah, okay, nobody’d buy that. Huh. Maybe I had some off-book intel for you?”

“Not sure that’s something we’d want to advertise if you did,” Leia pointed out.

“Yeah. And I’d trust the _Falcon_ to be a safer place for that kind of thing anyway, so that wouldn’t make any sense.” Han looked around the room. “Alright, how ‘bout—I was here fixin’ your heater core.”

“Not bad,” Leia agreed, although her mind swiftly went elsewhere with his comment. _Fixing my heater core, warming me up, applying a little heat, that sounds about right._

A smile must have registered on her face at the thought, because Han chuckled, that crooked grin turning his face from thoughtful to conspiratorial. “Little better than ‘not bad,’ I hope.”

Leia felt a little flutter at the memory, but she just smiled. “Much.”

He leaned in for another kiss, and as their lips moved together softly, the buzzing in Leia’s mind quieted. Han’s arm slipped around her waist and she moved her body closer, sank into it, made her world just lips and breaths and his arms around her. She was ready to fall into it all again, _yes, please,_ pulling him back down to the mattress with her—

“Leia,” Han said, a few more kisses in. He pulled back slightly, but not before placing another scratchy-wonderful kiss on her neck. He needed a shave. “Leia. Wait. What time’s it again?”

 _No, damn it._ She sighed without looking at her chrono.

His hazel eyes had a serious look. “You’ve got a meeting. People are gonna be lookin’ for you if you don’t show.”

The logical voice in her brain reminded her that he was right and that her protests were a little ridiculous; they both were fully dressed and had their parkas on at this point anyway.

“Maybe I’m sick.” Unreasonable Leia was persistent, she would give herself that.

He smiled. “That gets you out of your meeting and into the medbay. That what you want?”

“No. You’re right.”

“I get it. I like playin’ hooky, too,” he said, giving her another quick kiss before sitting back up. “’Specially with you. We goin’ with heater core fix?”

“You don’t have any tools with you.”

“Oh, yeah. Good point.”

Leia had to smile. This was one hell of a reversal: she’d invited him into her quarters last night, asked him to stay, and now he was the one suggesting cover stories to preserve her reputation and prompting her to be responsible in the light of day.

 _Well, kriff that_. If she had to leave this room, she was going to do it on her terms. “Okay, new plan.”

Han grinned, and lit up the way he did sometimes when she improvised on a mission. He liked it when she made a bold move. _Ballsy_ , he would say.

“I’m going to go to my meeting. You’re going to go back to the _Falcon_. And we’re going to walk right through this base and straight up dare anyone to say a damn thing.”

Han laughed. “You got it,” he said.

They both paused at the door. “Princess,” he said, with a little nod.

“Captain,” she said, returning it.

His eyebrow went up, just slightly, and his gaze stayed on hers. Then just as they had so many times last night, his lips formed her name.

“Leia.”

She smiled, and unlocked the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Outside's the rain, the driving snow  
> I can hear the wild wind blowing  
> Turn out the light, bolt the door  
> I ain't going out there no more
> 
> \--Bruce Springsteen, "Cover Me"
> 
> *"shuura-shaped" = "pear-shaped" = "went really, really badly"


End file.
